


Sympathetically Empathetic

by SunAndTheSea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunAndTheSea/pseuds/SunAndTheSea
Summary: Harry gets thrown back in time after the final battle. He struggles to make a life battling the ghosts of his past life and new challenges.//I‘m not really happy with the working title, if anyone has any ideas let me know.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 60





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much a story that wouldn't leave me alone after reading a lot "Harry in WWII-Era" fics. I guess the plot isn't very original, but since I had already written a portion down I thought I might as well share. Never too many of those.  
> This fic is not and may never be finished. Please be aware.  
> English is not my first language so spelling/grammar mistakes may happen. I will of course correct them as soon as possible if I become aware of them.  
> There may be a romance between two males, descriptions of violence and description of PTSD in this fic.  
> If any of the above offend you please don't read.  
> If there is anything else you believe should be mentioned here please let me know.

A hush falls over the Wizengamot. All eyes are turned to the front and not one of them is sleepy or bored. The ritual bowl glows softly. Expectantly.

“It would seem”, the Chief Warlock announces, “that we have a new member to welcome.” He is obviously confused. They all are. All the active seats are filled. Those that are not active have remained so for decades if not centuries. To see one of them claimed after all this time is astounding. Anticipation hangs in the air and Xerxes casts a disapproving look at the Light Fraction, where excited whispers have broken out.

He then glances to his ally Arcturus Black and raises an eyebrow but is answered with a minute shake of the head. Not even a whisper about a new political figure has reached either man. _Or anyone else it seems_.  
The doors to the chamber open with their familiar rush of magic and the silence returns, only interrupted by the light but confident footsteps of the small figure now striding to the podium.

 _So young_.  
The man ( _boy_?) looks hardly old enough to be out of Hogwarts but his robes are regal, brown, with purple and white details on them and an indifferent look on his face that speaks of experience in in the public eye.

Xerxes stands. Almost every member of the Wizengamot has risen by now, except one or two who seem not quite sure if it is a joke or not. The bo-man…new Lord has reached the podium and looks expectantly at the Chief Warlock. Old Abbot seems completely out of his depth.  
“Right.” He bumbles “Right!” Finally remembering his duty, he takes the ritual dagger from its display and hands it to the mysterious stranger. “Seven drops of your blood, revered Lord, that the ancient magic within this chamber may judge your worth!”

The whole room waits with baited breath as the young man takes the blade, swiftly cuts his thumb- _knowledge about symbolism, good_ -and lets the required blood drip into the bowl, like every Lord and Lady in this chamber has before him. Whit the last drip landing the bowl lights up like a shining star, blinding those in the chamber. Then the light seeps into the carves lines leading to the floor and along the chamber.  
That was all normal so far, though the intensity of the light may be unexpected. What causes a collective _shutdown_ of mental capability within the Wizengamot is when the light actually _splits_!  
 _What…Two seats? Three?!_

Xerxes turns to Lord Black, only to see his white pallor worsen even farther. He knows he can’t look much better, impeccable composure or not. He decides to face this miracle and turns back around. It probably isn’t going away.  
He takes a deep calming breath and evaluates exactly what kind of _political MONSTER_ they would all be facing shortly.  
 _Two seats with the Dark Faction, one with the Light Faction and two Neutral_.  
He can’t believe the two seats lighting up within his own faction. Powerful. Old. Unclaimed for at least a millennium! But there they were. The crests upon the seats glowing unmistakably. Called to duty once more by the young beauty’s blood. His eye casts out over the rest of the chamber, but he can’t recognize the rest of the seats.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened a few weeks earlier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is not and may never be finished. Please be aware.  
> English is not my first language so spelling/grammar mistakes may happen. I will of course correct them as soon as possible if I become aware of them.  
> There may be a romance between two males, descriptions of violence and description of PTSD in this fic.  
> If any of the above offend you please don't read.  
> If there is anything else you believe should be mentioned here please let me know.  
> Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to J.K.Rowling as far as I know.

A few weeks earlier…

The ground under his cheek is damp and gravelly. That’s the first thing he notices. Then comes the headache, well full body ache to be precise and he wishes he could go back to unconsciousness. The last thing Harry remembers is catching the Elder wand after Voldemort was destroyed. It lit up like a dying star then…

  
…

  
Nothing. What happened? Is everyone ok? Harry is tired. He _hurts_. But he shoves all that away into that tiny box that holds years of abuse and heartache and loneliness and forces himself to open his eyes and face the world.

  
The world is a dark overgrown clearing in a forest at what seems like early morning. Stony ground, patches of grass and lots of cold, cold, cold morning dew. The shivering teen turns in a circle and looks around. All around him is forest but the ground near and under where he lay is slightly charred.

  
What now?! Frustration feels like a raging beast in his chest and brings tears to his eyes.  
 _All right. Deep breaths_.  
The exhausted boy takes a minute to follow his own advice.

  
 _Okay. Resources._  
The clothes on his back. Invisibility cloak in his pocket along with the sto…Hadn’t he dropped that? Oh well. Along with the stone. The Elder Wan still clutched in his hand – _good, not defenseless_ – The moleskin bag around his neck that holds a few Galleons and precious memories.

  
 _What do I need to do?_  
Find out how long he slept. Find out who won the battle at Hogwarts. Find out how his friends are doing. Find out what happened. Not necessarily in that order. Get warm. Now.

  
All, or most of the above questions could be answered at the same time. Best place would be Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Get warm and eat first. He was nearly frozen to the bones and weak as a newborn calf.  
 _Awfully cold for summer._

  
Where was safe? Nowhere. He’d use his invisibility cloak to assess the situation. Better go to Diagon. Easier to lose pursuers in the bustle of London if there are wards against apparition. And he could apparate to the Kings Cross apparition point – _safer than either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade_ – and grab a bite to eat at a muggle establishment first.

  
Right. One last breath to center. To forget the pain and the confusion and grief and exhaustion and everything else. One moment for himself to lock it all away.  
Then the young soldier put his invisibility cloak around his shoulders, made sure his(?) wand was secure in his hand and turned on the spot with a sharp crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So getting my first comment motivated me to go ahead and type up the next page. Again, very short. The next chapter will be a little longer in coming but hopefully also longer ;)  
> I don't think of myself as very sensitive so feel free to critisize.


	3. Slap in the face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry just wants to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter does not belong to me.

The moment Harry feels solid ground underneath his feet he crouches down and holds his breath. All senses concentrated on any possible threat around him. He doesn’t sense anything. The platform is completely deserted. _Is platform 9 ¾ even used except for the Hogwarts Express?_

Breathing out slowly makes the air in front of him fog up and causes Harry to immediately hold his breath again even though his lungs are desperate for air at this point. He ignores the slow burn in his lungs as he creeps towards the exit but stops just before it. His heart is pounding in panic.

Could there be any wards alerting people of his passing? Or worse, trap him inside like the ward Dobby did at the start of second year? He doesn’t feel anything off, though. And he is pretty sensitive to wards of all kinds. He’d feel if there was something. Wouldn’t he?

The burn in his lungs doesn’t leave him with much of a choice. His breath would render his invisibility useless in another few seconds. Better now or never. So he carefully inches forward and breaks into a run when he feels no resistance from the barrier.

On the other side, his escape is halted after just a couple of strides. Harry can do nothing more than stand and stare in shock for a moment.

The Station only looks vaguely familiar, and all the people on it look like they have just jumped out of a historical documentary. The men in crisp suits and the women in long dresses.

_What?_

Breathing could not be postponed any further, so Harry backs up into a shaded corner as soon as possible but only takes very shallow, calculated breaths no matter how his lungs are screaming at him.

Shove it in the box.

Okay.

Confounded? Too elaborate. Illusion? Same. Most importantly: Why? If this is a trick, which it has to be, then what is its purpose? If someone had the time to set this up, spell, potion or whatever, they could have just as easily killed him. Or chained him up to watch someone he loves get tortured.

There was no reason to set this up.

Blow to the head?

Would not be able to reason this out then.

Getting caught suddenly doesn’t take priority anymore.

Okay. Okay, breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In…

Okay. Put it in the box. Assuming this is real. Next step.

_Resources?_

Same. Though the meager amounts of muggle money will probably be useless at this time.

_Knowledge?_

Don’t know how. Don’t know why. Don’t know who.

 _When?_ Early 20th century? Find a paper.

Keep hiding. Clothing too obvious. Find paper. Check if your Galleons are valid at Gringotts.

Another deep breath and Harry is on his way.

The walk to the Leaky Cauldron takes Harry almost an hour by his estimation and is made more stressful by having to dodge early morning workers. He does manage a peek at a newspaper though.

1939\. Well shit. WWII and stuff is happening and here he is in foreign clothes, only hidden by an invisibility cloak, with no background, almost no resources, and no connections. Entering the Wizarding world will be even worse with people nervous about Grindelwald.

So Harry decides to take the invisibility cloak off before entering the Leaky. He would have to take it off at Gringotts anyway. Better to not get the Aurors called on him right away.

The pub looks just like it always has. The man behind the bar might even be old Tom when he was like 30. Looks just as cheerful if slightly confused. His out of date, ragged, muggle clothing must look slightly like a tattered Pajama to most wixen or something similar. He hurries to the back door and quickly enters the alley. He is almost numb at this point. Both physically and emotionally from being hunted and killed and almost killed and fighting and then dying or maybe the time-traveling… stuff.

He quickly strides up Gringotts marble stairs. There was only one wandering drunk and a store owner, or so Harry assumes, on the streets and a confused look was the worst of it. Apparently, the wizarding world is a little more lazy-morning than muggle London. Right. For lack of a better option Harry just thanks his luck that the bank basically never closes and approaches an open teller. They look at him like any Goblin probably looked at any wizard ever. With thinly-veiled suspicion and disdain.

“Good morning Master Goblin. May your gold flow like your enemy’s blood. ”

“May your enemy’s blood flow like your gold Master Wizard.” Sneers the goblin, obviously unimpressed with Harry’s rudimentary manners but not completely hostile.

Harry counts it as a win.

“I have recently come across some Galleons and would like to verify their authenticity.”

Now the hostility is back. Wonderful.

“Gringotts Galleons can not be **replicated**.” Spits the deeply offended teller.

“I have no doubt the difference would be obvious to you. I’m afraid I am not confident enough in my own skills. ” He quickly fishes out a Galleon from his pouch as he says this and holds it out to the goblin, who snatches it with their long fingers and a look of utter loathing that quickly turns into confusion. Their eyes flick up to Harry’s and back to the Galleon in their hand.

“Will you require Gringotts to conduct an inheritance test Master Wizard?” the teller asks slowly, eyes lingering on the Galleon they flick between their fingers.

“Excuse me? What’s that? ” Harry flushes in embarrassment immediately after the startled exclamation. But he is just so tired and cold and confused. All he wants is some food and a warm bed!

“An inheritance test. To test for any vaults, titles, or **names** you might claim. ” Well shit. The goblin’s eyes are fairly drilling into him now. “Rest assured any information such a test would show is strictly confidential.

There is much to consider, but not many options. _Most important_.

“How much would Gringotts charge for such a service?”

The teller’s face morphed into a grin. Wow. Scary.

“Normal fee is 20 Galleons. But for people who are… lost. One Galleon. ”

Deep breath. “Very well.” The goblin is almost buzzing in excitement now. The Galleon between their fingers had vanished. “Follow me.” They say and climb down from the desk. This earns many curious and startled looks from their colleagues, but the teller pays it no mind as they lead Harry from the hall and into a cramped office-like room. There is a medium-sized bowl on the table already to which the goblin nods as they both take seats across from each other. “Seven drops of blood.” Is all the instruction Harry gets. And needs. A quick cut with the wand and the required blood has splashed into the bowl almost faster than Harry can blink. He takes his hand back quickly. The wound has already closed. Hermione had been adamant about knowing proper first aid in wartime and Harry is astoundingly good at it wandlessly.

The Goblin, whose name Harry still doesn’t know, taps the bowl with a finger and the parchment beneath the bowl rapidly fills with writing. When it’s done, the bowl is set to the side and the parchment given to Harry.

**Harry James Potter-Black**

**Son of**

**James Potter (deceased)**

**Lillian Rose Potter née Evans (deceased)**

**Lord of**

**The Most Ancient House of Emrys (requirement met)**

**The Most Ancient House of Gryffindor (standing bloodline, requirement met)**

**The Most Noble and Ancient House of Slytherin (standing bloodline, conquest fulfilled, requirement met)**

**The Most Noble and Ancient House of LeFay (traces of bloodline, requirement met)**

**The Most Noble and Ancient House of Peverell (standing bloodline, requirement met)**

**\- Lordship to the Ancient and Venerable House of Potter overruled by other claim**

**\- Lordship to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black overruled by other claim**

Harry puts the parchment on the table where it is snatched up by his… business partner? How strange that before Potter and Black were the only names he associated with himself and suddenly there was some other stuff? Requirement met? Standing bloodline for Slytherin? What? At least he had learned enough from Neville to parse through the Most Ancient, Most Noble stuff. But related to Slytherin? Wasn’t the Parseltongue because of Voldemort?

“Well you are fairly out of luck it seems.” The goblin sounds far too chipper for Harry’s liking.

“Pardon?” God he needs to sleep, hasn’t eaten in forever and the stupid office is ice cold, though warmer than the frigid morning air outside.

The ‘smile’ on the goblin’s face is downright terrifying and if Harry was not ALREADY shivering from the cold this would have done it.

“All these names are as ostentatious as can be. There will be no living under the radar for you I’m afraid. ”

…

Since the wizard in front of him isn’t reacting the goblin just goes on.

“Since there is no use hiding you might as well claim them all. It will protect you. Not as well as anonymity would have, but oh well. Can’t have everything. ” The mocking cheerfulness would have incensed Harry otherwise, but he just doesn’t have the energy at the moment.

“There is a Wizengamot session in 3 weeks where you can introduce yourself. Shake things up a bit. Now about your assets, I would suggest buying some stock in addition to the accumulated gold and property you have. When the last Lords for those bloodlines ruled the stock market wasn’t really a thing yet. Or existed in general. It’s always wise to diversify. Most of your properties are I disrepair since the wards on them failed but Gringotts can arrange things for you if you would like. For a fee of course. Some are sufficiently protected, really old blood magic I suspect and you can… ”

“Stop.”

The goblin was rattling off the information disinterestedly and Harry has no patience for it right now.

Breathe.

Cold. Tired. Hungry. Immediate threat to person? Probably not.

“I will come back to deal with the particulars another day. I need to know if any properties are livable right this second. ”

Instead of being put out by Harry’s brisk manner, the goblin seemed to be glad to postpone the second part of the meeting.

“Certainly, Lord Emrys-Gryffindor-Slytherin-Peverell-LeFay. I suspect all properties need at least minimum upkeep before they are habitable. ”

So no option for the immediate crash he would experience soon. Muggle London is also out due to the war – When exactly was the Blitz happening again? – and he can’t apparate again with his magic as depleted as it is. The Leaky Cauldron it is then.

“Back to my original question. Can I use these Galleons as I usually would? ”

The goblin grimaces at this. “Gringotts would highly appreciate it, Lord Emrys-Gryff-“

“Lord Peverell for convenience's sake please, Master Goblin.” The name was already annoying.

“Gringotts would sincerely appreciate it, Lord Peverell, if you would not. I would ask to keep the coins you brought with you in exchange for some newly forged ones. You may be assured of Gringotts' silence on this private matter. "

What an odd way to phrase this. But he needs a bed and food and warmth NOW.

"I will need sufficient funds to procure a meal and shelter at the Leaky Cauldron as well as appropriate clothes."

The goblin sneers and snaps his nimble fingers and Harry's tattered clothes morph into a simple, warm black cloak.

The incredible feeling causes the man's sore muscles to instantly relax and loosen. The most violent shivers peter out and the tired youth rolls his shoulders to gently help them unclench.

"Convenient. When will it fade? "

The deadpan look he is given makes him feel quite inadequate. "It won't."

"Ah... Thank you Master Goblin. "

The teller inclines their head. "The Galleons you brought with you will be sufficient for room and board for a few days. The matter of your inheritance can be settled when you are sufficiently rested. " The goblin explains as they pile the Future Galleons up neatly and then add the same amount and height of stacks from a pouch on the table

"Do not hesitate to ask for Bloodfang when you next come in Lord Peverell. I will be absolutely delighted to assist you in acclimating to your new position. "

Ahhhhhh. No wonder the goblin was so accomodating. The fact that Harry has stumbled up to THEIR counter has likely offered an opportunity for social climbing that could only be found once in a millennium.

"I will remember," Harry says, not committing to anything and carefully takes the stacks of Galleons the goblin - Bloodfang - has pushed towards him.

He then finally stands, hopefully to collapse in a bed and sleep for a week in about 15 minutes. "may your enemies drown in their blood, Master Bloodfang."

"May your riches be a profit to us both." Bold. Oh well, Harry did prefer that to subtlety most days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3  
> I tried writing it in present tense for whatever reason but I kept slipping into past tense throughout the process. Do you think present or past tense would be better?  
> Also, I wasn't sure how Harry should adress the goblin. I decided in my goblin culture, goblins don't really make any gender distinction and their genders are hard to tell for wizards. So I had Harry call them "they" in his head, since he wouldn't want to misgender them. But I kept thinking of the goblin as he. So I messed up a few times and had to go back and correct it. If you find any mistakes, I would love to know and have the opportunity to change them.  
> I would love a comment if you can spare the time :)


	4. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to sort out some things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter does not belong to me.

Harry opens his eyes to dull sunlight that filters through small windows. He wishes he hadn't. The room he booked last night, with Tom(?) asking surprisingly few questions about the strange figure stumbling his way into the Leaky, is small but warm and comfortable. The young man had spent all but half an hour casting all manner of wards and then collapsed on top of the sheets and passed out.

  
He now takes a steadying breath and pushes himself up from the sheets. The way his clothes stick to his skin tells him all he needs to know about the urgency a bath needs to take on his list of priorities. Meaning it should have happened a week ago. At least. And it is what he is now going to do. All the drama and plans and titles and whatever can wait one damn hour.

  
Even though he knows he'll have to put on the same clothes Bloodfang transfigured for him yesterday he will indulge first. Unwind and feel human again. Everything else can come later. So that's what he does. When he is done Harry orders a simple breakfast to his room, even though it is already late in the afternoon. He manages about half before his body starts to protest.

  
_All right , planning time_. So he is no longer severely sleep-deprived, hungry, cold or hurt. Time to tackle the other issues. Not sure whether I should request 'Bloodfang' or not. _ Ehh. That's too convoluted to reason out without a good sounding board or advice. I'll just go with my gut feeling. _

No time like the present.  
With a last bracing breath, Harry squares his shoulders and leaves his room. The stairs beneath his feet creak on the way down and put him on edge almost as much as the low din of patrons in the inn. It's all right. _ Fake it till you make it. Just pretend youknow that you're doing. _

  
Tom looks at him curiously as he steps down from the stairs, obviously keen on a conversation with the mysterious stranger. So Harry just nods at him briefly with a friendly smile and hurries through the pub as quickly as possible. _ Avoid all eye contact_.  
The tense teen breathes a sigh of relief as he reaches the crisp evening air outside and the murmur from the pub cuts off with the door closed. _ An attack is very unlikely. _ _Just be alert for any suspicious movements and it'll be fine_.  


The walk to Gringotts takes little time and Harry is one of only three patrons. Most people are probably preparing for dinner or still at work. Consequently, he has to wait in line for the only open teller. The distinguished gentleman at the very front simply requests his account manager and leaves without a single glance to anything that isn't directly related to his momentary goal.

The man directly in front of Harry is less refined but clearly well to do. He also evidently thinks very highly of himself if the condescending way he demands the teller's services are anything to go by.  
The annoyed teller takes a long time to accomplish the required tasks. Much longer than Harry is used to for simple requests like an account statement and a transfer order. Said customer seems used to the wait, though. The amused raven figures it probably isn't unusual for him to be so rude to the goblins.

  
It's finally Harry's turn a quarter of an hour later.  
"Good Morning, Master Goblin! May your gold flow like your enemies' blood. "  
The goblin, that had until then looked viciously pleased, lost  some of their  pleasure , but luckily also  some of the  hostility .   
"Good Morning, Master Wizard. May your enemies' blood flow like your gold. What can Gringotts do for you today," is drawled at a fast pace. Evidently, the teller wishes this encounter over as quickly as possible, so they can get back to their fun.  
"I'd like to request a meeting with Bloodfang, please." Who was Harry to deny anyone their fun?  


The request obviously startles the teller. Their face loses some of the bored apathy and the eyebrows lift. "Bloodfang? They are a fellow teller. What business could you have with them? " 

"That is my own business, Master Goblin," the raven replies. Inwardly he sighs. Maybe this is more trouble than it's worth.

  
The goblin has evidently sensed blood. Or gold. _I'm not quite sure the goblins know the difference_. "Absolutely, Master Wizard! But allow me to assure you; I would complete any task you assign me just as faithfully as my fellow teller!"

  
_That is the most animated I have ever seen a goblin._

  
"I assure you, Master Goblin, I have no doubts as to your capability or dutifulness. Nevertheless, I started this business last night with your fellow teller Bloodfang. I would like to continue with him as I do not need to brief him, unlike anyone else."

  
Disappointed, the teller mutters a disgruntled "Very well," and presses a hand to a rune on his desk, which briefly lights up.

  
"It might take some time," is Harry's brief dismissal as the goblin indicates a spot to his right, that only differs from the rest of the hall by the plaque on the wall.   
'Waiting area'

"May your enemies drown in their own blood, Master goblin."

"And may their riches fill your pockets," the teller finishes bored again and already looking at his next victi...customer.

The line behind the youth now has four people in it. All of them look incredibly surprised when the young stranger doesn't even make it halfway to the waiting area before Bloodfang appears so suddenly, they may as well have teleported. "Good Morning Lord Peverell. May our riches grow as your enemies' blood waters them," the goblin greets pleasantly. The other teller's eyes snapped to the pair, the second Bloodfang appeared. They now bug out of their face, which grows incredibly pale. Harry's associate from last night can't help but grin at their fellow goblin like the cat that got the cream. They seem immensely pleased with themselves.

_ Fuuuuuuuuck! _

He glances at the people waiting in line.  _ I am SO not ready to be outed as Lord Peverell!  _ Other than mild curiosity at the strange goblin by-play, no one reacts, though. Mildly reassured, Harry responds to Bloodfang's greeting. "Good Morning Master Bloodfang. May our enemies' blood flow and swell like a river as your riches pave the bed."

Bloodfang's attention turns back to their customer, finished with the gloating. "Please follow me, Lord Peverell," Bloodfang instructs and leads the way out of the hall.

The raven throws one last anxious glance at the mildly curious crowd and then quickly follows. 

When they reach the same cramped office from last night, Harry decides to make his reservations known. "I had hoped to keep my titles to myself for some time yet."

The goblin looks at Harry and calmly settles into the chair on their side of the desk. "No need to worry, Lord Peverell. It is impossible to gain knowledge unrelated to your own affairs in these halls. The enchantment is tailored to respond to the customer's wishes. No one understood me as I said your name."

Harry blinks, absolutely baffled. _I CAN remember the man before me ordered a bank statement and a transfer order. But I can't recall the man's name, the amounts, or the recipients of the transfer_. They must have been said, though! _Well, that's reassuring_.

"We left your affairs with quite a few loose ends Lord Peverell. Where would you like to begin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This chapter feels a little awkward to me. Guess it's because there is technically not a lot happening in it. Next chapter should finally settle the basis and then we can move onto PLOT! YAY! :)  
> Thank you for the kudos and comments. They make me really happy!!!  
> I THINK I will have the next chapter out next weekend but that may just be wishful thinking. XD

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on this site, very short Introduction I know. I hope you enjoyed it this far anyway. I don't think of myself as very sensitive so feel free to critisize. Let's see if that will change in a few weeks. XD


End file.
